


Little Line of Lace

by Kiyuomi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: DFAB!Yuri, Established Relationship, Female Body Parts, Lingerie, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Otabek in Lingerie, Social Media, Solo Sex Scene, Tagged Underage because canon Yuri is not 18, Trans!Yuri, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyuomi/pseuds/Kiyuomi
Summary: Yuri masturbates to pictures of Otabek in lingerie.





	Little Line of Lace

                Yuri doesn’t know when competitions started merging into date sites, when empty hotel rooms became crowded and when morning practice became morning practice with Otabek; what he does knows is that it happened.

                They say romance changes people.

                He’s never believed it until now.

                It’s not that a long distance relationship is easy, but it’s not that hard either. Sure, they don’t meet every other weekend, or every weekend, or every day. The only other skating couple is Victor and Yuuri, and Yuri wants to be nothing like those lovey-dovey idiots. Then there’s JJ and Isabella, and if Yuri has to see her pull him down for a “good luck” kiss one more time he’s going to puke.

                So yeah, they’re not grossly romantic. They don’t meet every day with hugs and kisses. There’s no magical ball of party decorations that explode over them every holiday, and they have less than 10 couple pictures uploaded on their own (there’s thousands online, but they’re all from Phichit). They don’t get to see each other often.

                Normally, Yuri likes it that way.

                Sometimes though, something shakes it up. A particularly hard competition, a horrible day on the rink, a day when hormones are crazy and Yuri screams when he peels off his boxers to see red splotched along the center.

                Those days without Otabek are the worst.

                Today is a different kind of shaking it up.

                Today is a good kind.

                Yuri sighs, peeling off his sweatpants and rolling over his bed, absentmindedly cuddling the various cat plushies lying around. The whole day had just been frustrating. Dealing with Mila early in the morning; her relentless hijacking of his phone to send the vilest messages to Otabek. Then something had happened with Georgi and he’s already forgotten the name of his girlfriend but he can’t forget her looks when Georgi spent a good three hours speaking of her wonderful “curly, blonde hair”. Yuuri and Victor were about the same as always, by which he means absolutely infuriating and disgusting and honestly at this point, he’s not sure whether he’d prefer having to deal with dumb and dumber or just quitting skating as a whole.

                He’s really sick of them, alright?

                Today’s not a bad day though. It really can’t be a bad day when Yuri, only Yuri, gets access to those few pictures that filter through his snapchat. Mila had almost taken a glimpse at one particular photo earlier, but Yuri managed to yap her off just before it fully loaded.

                Yuri is looking at that very picture now.

                Otabek smiles upward at the camera, skin flush with exercise and his arms tense. His shirt was sliding off the edge of his right shoulder, lower, lower, revealing the slimmest black strap underneath. There’s not a lot of skin showing.

                Yuri swipes to the next photo.

                Now there is. His shirt is off and that black strap is shown in all its glory, stuck to a wonderful, wonderful lacy one piece. It’s slightly cupped at the top, two triangular cups edged with a thin line of lace and a red ribbon center. The leotard is cut high, high up over his waist, and from the angle Yuri can almost imagine the glimpse of his trail peeking out under the raschel lace that cuts up his torso, see through yet not and just, plain sexy.

                Yuri had never been a fan of lingerie. It was itchy, tight, unbearable and it didn’t help that wearing one made people think _girl_. He was lucky to have such a slim body—his breasts were never big enough to warrant a bra, and by the time that his transition started he figured he would never need one. It’s both funny and sad that he was right; Yuri’s seen the older skater’s bodies. Some of them definitely have the pecs to fill out a bra.

                On Yuri, lingerie is not sexy.

                On Otabek?

                Yuri fits a finger between the fold of his boxers, moaning as he kneads against the wet fabric. The best thing about boxers is that they’re actually durable, and he’s not afraid to tease himself. Yuri had never thought that he’d be the kind to get aroused from something so innocent, but somehow, Otabek gets to him.

                Otabek in lingerie gets him so wet.

                Yuri sighs, pinching at the skin right above his clitoris, bobbing his fingers. Otabek had unfairly flustered him the entire day—it started in the morning when Otabek had sent him a picture of his ass in a lacy thong. Yuri had stuttered, face beet red, unable to reply as more pictures of Otabek in various underpants came in. A white frilly high rise, a red lacy brief, a very, very scandalous floral _string_ called underwear. It hit him right across the hips, slung down to accommodate for his dick and Yuri moans, fingers fluttering against his boxers, at the memory. Otabek’s smile had turned shy for that one picture, and Yuri had wanted to do terrible things.

                Yuri kicks off his boxers, frowning at the sudden chill against the stickiness of his thighs. He would get up and turn on the heater but he’s lazy, aroused, and his phone is so much closer.

                His favorite piece remains the one that started it all: Otabek’s white lace garter and panty set. They were just going to take a ride around the city, go on a date, explore the neighborhood, sightsee. Then Otabek had swung his leg over the bike and his shirt went high, higher, and Yuri had been the only viewer of the barest glimpse of _lace_ against the other’s skin. Then his shirt went down, Yuri slid on the bike, and that was supposed to be it.

                Yuri’s fingers trace the fold of skin between his thigh and vagina, suppressing a pleased “ahh” as his index finger moved in, circling his clitoris. A soft, barely present pressure against his sensitive spot, just prodding, teasing.

                Yuri had always assumed Otabek would be a brief kind of dude. The kind of guy that looked so manly, so confident, rocking a thin, tight pair. Yuri presses down harder, rubbing a little circle over his clitoris and gasping, legs twitching inward just once. He’s never been so pleased to be proven wrong before.

                They had gone shopping at Yuri’s insistence. There was a shirt printed with pictures of many cats on it, how was he supposed to say no? The little store had been filled with cat clothes upon clothes, and in the wait time for Yuri Otabek had wandered off with two pairs of jeans to try on. It was mostly just impatience that spurned Yuri to march over to the changing rooms, yanking the curtain that hid Otabek.

                “Mnn,” Yuri sighs, dipping his fingers down again, brushing his knuckles against the open lips. His fingers are sticky, stickier, and he gives a breathy moan when one finger prods further. It’s sheer will that stops him from simply digging in, thighs flapping uselessly at his side.

                There’s a picture of Otabek on his phone. Not in the changing room, nor on his bike; simply him in his room. The panties ride high to hug his hips, edged with a thin line of scalloped lace. His garters are thin, ribbed little tabs that hold up a pair of wide cut fishnets. Yuri wants Otabek to wear them, wants to jerk him off in them, wants to rip them open and fuck himself on Otabek’s dick.

                “Fuck, fuck.” Yuri groans, feeling his thighs quiver as his vagina squeezes down, his fingers pinching the lips. It’s Otabek’s fault, honestly. His back arches and he muffles a gasp, left hand’s index finger working straight over his clit. It’s maddening, the sensation and the thought of Otabek, and his right leg bounces anxiously as his finger strokes. He’s dripping, leaking onto the blankets. He doesn’t care.

                Otabek in a red lacy peignoir. Otabek in a pink one. Otabek smiling down, downward, his nipples erect, pushing against the padding of a bra. Lacing the corset tight, too tight, until Otabek quivers in his hands, pleasure and pain swirling. Peeling away the pair of panties to see the red lines it leaves behind. Kissing the top of a garter.

                Kissing Otabek.

                Blowing Otabek.

                Fucking Otabek.

                Yuri presses down on his clit, raw, maddening, Otabek, Otabek, _Otabek_ swirling in his mind, and he want to scream.

                Masturbation is weird. One moment he’s starting to float off into the air, the next it’s a computer overloading and his fingers need to stop, clawing into the insides of his thighs as he breathes. His right hand finds its way up to his chest. It lays there, useless, sticky.

                “Yeesh,” Yuri breathes. The colors around him fade into obscurity, the noises drone and his heartbeat drums on, harsh and painfully powerful in his chest. It’s better to speak than not, and he groans as he shifts, letting the brilliant white pleasure fade into the sounds of traffic and television, the dim light overhead beginning to burn into his eyes.

                His body cools from pleasant overheating to cold sweat. Shivering, Yuri hefts off the blankets that have crumpled under his movements, and swings his legs over the side. A long, hot shower, and sleep is what he needs.

                His phone buzzes. Then again, and again.

                Yuri smiles.

                “Otabek. Guess what I just did?”

**Author's Note:**

> A little nsfw things I did for Otayuri week that I never uploaded due to bad internet! Found it in my drafts and decided to upload it. I'm more a fan of otayuri as friendship than romance (#giveYuriactualfriendsnotshipbait2k17) but I'll never reject a boy in cute panties.


End file.
